I have begun to create narratives around my dreams. The following is an account of one of my most vivid dreams and is put together in a short story format with three separate chapters. These chapters are characterised by my interpretation of the main focus of each dream sequence. I have tried to stay as true to my memory as possible.
Into The Tunnels.
They were reminiscent of an abandoned subway station. The people who lived there never went outside unless it was necessary. They were sparsely decorated and whole families lived in crammed conditions in small makeshift homes. The family I was living with were humble and very welcoming. They had two young children with characteristic smudges of dirt on they’re cheeks and bruises from climbing games.
The Father of the house was a solitary creature. He worked away in silence in a small cupboard like study in a dark corner of the ‘house’. He worked away by candlelight making what appeared to be mechanical inventions of some sort. The only sound he made was a deep grunting as he cleared his throat and a sigh that could only signify contentment with his creations.
We went on a tour of the subway tunnels, picking up scrap and collecting all manner of historical artefacts along the way. We stopped at an intersection where two tunnels met and a mural was drawn on the wall between. The mural depicted a train conductor in a royal blue uniform and embroidered cap. His eyes, like his clothes were startlingly bright and his beard was thick and white with a light scattering of silver grey. Two figures loomed ominously behind him, one at either side. They both wore an expression of shock and awe on their indistinguishable faces. They’re gaze was fixed at a point. They appeared to be looking towards the tunnel to my immediate right. The entire scene was fixed inside a decorative frame of red and white squares arranged in an oval shape around the figures. I followed their gaze to find a waxwork sculpture depicting the most baffling of scenes.
A man lay on the ground
His face fixed in an expression of both pain and fear
A fox was tearing at his flesh
While a woman was sewing up the gaping wound?
Another waxwork figure stood a few feet away. He was wearing an array of different fashions from every period of history imaginable. The mother of the household whispered in my ear
‘My husband made all of this from memory’
A Timeless World.
Later, we ventured out of the tunnels to pick up some supplies. The city seemed, at first to be deserted. Before long the streets grew busy with people, all dressed much like the waxwork figures from the tunnels. Some even appeared to be sporting futuristic attire. The peculiar thing was that everyone seemed to be wearing some kind of timepiece, from pocket watches to hourglasses.
The streets were littered with objects, significant artefacts net to scrap metal, all piled on top of one another in mountainous heaps. Something shiny caught my eye and I felt the compulsion to pick it up. The object seemed to be the wrist and hand of a piece of medieval armour. At the tip of the index finger something flickered. Lightly at first but then a little brighter the longer I held it in my hands. A flame, much like the Bunsen burners we used in science classes in high school. The flame was at once made of fire and solid glass. The lucid notion that I was dreaming hit me with a sudden wave of recognition as a passer by called out to me like a distant inner voice.
‘You must never let this light go out’